Water Deep Down the Well
by akaisherry47
Summary: Water is believed to be the symbol of life, of compassion and of mercy. What if the well is supposed to be barren? On the eve of her staged birthday, a turncoat's morality is put to a test as she takes hold of her target's fate.


Disclaimer: I don't own Detective Conan, nor other copyrights mentioned in this fanwork. Any resemblance this story may have with actual events is coincidental unless duly stated.

Author's Notes: For those of you who are wondering about my sudden hiatus, I've been occupied the last couple of months, what with personal matters, other ventures and struggles with regards to my writing, mostly the lack of confidence. After some much needed shaping up, I officially mark my return to DC, with seldom-used characters no less. I'm only posting this prelude to try to test the waters once more, and I admit, I'm not so sure how to handle the characters who are going to appear in it, and some details might be inconsistent. As far as the infamous DC timeline's concerned, this happened between The Bloody Idol and Ding Dong Dash. Based on some old chapters, a number of Japanese shows/novels featuring a similar group and setting, and a slight touch of the west. Rating tentative.

Of all DC characters, let along Organization members who aren't traitors living next door to each other (for those who are looking for my stories about them, I have one or two on the way), Kir/Rena/Hidemi definitely ranks high on my list, and I've always wanted to take a shot at her since I branched out of the ship. In my opinion, she played a major role in Clash of Red and Black's success. Too bad she was practically thrown off the bus right after that, perhaps because the CIA's image in pop culture and the kind of character she's supposed to be doesn't mesh well with DC's generally-black and white world. I can go on and on about my disappointments over how she was mishandled all day, but I won't.

Written under Hidemi's perspective, the second time I've done this style here for any franchise. I'm probably rusty, but I hope it's still acceptable enough.

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><p>Michiaki Hibiki, thirty-eight years of age and residing in Bunkyo, is your typical Non-Official Cover for the organization. Salaryman at a telecommunications company by day, intelligence agent by night, monitoring our targets' movements through their phone records and conversations, while paying close attention to any sensitive information we could use as leverage against others in case money isn't convincing enough and they still have enough value to keep alive. He also covers the trail of some of our incautious clients and members by splicing their calls and altering their messages so the authorities won't be able to find anything of interest. It's an important job for us especially at this day and age, and he's only one of several in the field.<p>

He's had this post for almost ten years. Used to be a wiretapper for top-rated fortune-telling sham that was eventually axed once their scheme was exposed. He was deluging himself with alcohol at a gambling hall when our recruiter found him, played with him on the same table and learned about his previous job, took interest in what he can do and eventually decided to provide him this job and this identity, much like a stray dog picked up from a back alley. He's had a relatively good life since; met his now-deceased wife in his third year, had his daughter Minako almost immediately after the wedding, even got a promotion in his fifth. He also used his job at the telco for his own benefit, acquiring tips from unsuspecting callers to rake in on the stock market. But most importantly, he did well on what we asked of him in exchange for our blessing. Through information he provided over the years, the organization was able to eliminate three of our targets, and pressure eight clients into working with us. Doesn't even include those who succumbed to us following the death of those three targets. As irrelevant as he is to the bigger picture, Hibiki used to be an asset...

….Until his wife and daughter got hit by a truck on their way home from the supermarket two years ago. The wife died before even receiving medical attention, while Minako was reduced to a vegetable on life support. It was on the news for a couple of days, but soon fell down the pecking order when the police couldn't find the perpetrator. Unable to cope with the tragedy and the lack of resolution to his case, Hibiki plummeted, turning back to his drinking and gambling roots for comfort. Due to exorbitant medical fees that forced him to take Minako home, the life support equipment that keeps her alive to this day, some bad investments here and there and his vices, he also fell on rough times financially and eventually racked up some debt from the bank, the government, and loan sharks. The job he held onto for nearly a decade has started to slip away from him too, and he found himself on the verge of getting sacked for his declining aptitude, both by the telco and by the organization. He was practically letting himself rot away so the organization decided to hold off on dealing with him, milking on what little use we had left of him while focusing on other, more pressing ventures.

However, just over a month ago the FBI, who has already established a bastion in this country, came into contact with Hibiki, offering him a fresh start under the WPP and medical support for Minako in exchange for information about the person who recruited and handled him, the operations he abetted and members he cleaned after, codename or otherwise. After days of intervention, Hibiki caved, realizing the error of his ways and finding the will to hold on to the hope that Minako would regain consciousness one day, and to strive to become a father she could be proud of before then. The feds are presently settling his debts to speed up the process so Minako could be transferred to a top-notch medical facility as soon as possible. It will still take a while to iron things out though...

...In other words, Hibiki has to die tonight.

"...Rena-chan? Rena-chan? Are you still there?" Yoko Okino's voice resounded through my right ear, reminding me that I'm still in the middle of a phone call with her. That I'm still Nichiuri TV's Rena Mizunashi.

"Yes, yes. Something just caught my eye is all," I said, as apologetic as I could.

Yoko bought it unsuspiciously. "Are you still at the fund raiser?"

"No, we just wrapped up twenty minutes ago. I'm on my way home." For the most part, this was true. Moments ago, I was covering the annual Domon War and Calamity Relief Gala held at a hotel in Minato, keeping a close eye on its host Yasuteru Domon, who we've been shadowing for sometime now, but I received a directive halfway through. To force our crew to pack up, a "technical difficulty" had to happen once I've recorded enough material for tomorrow's feature. Not like the media could stay for the after-party or rather, the real party anyway, which will begin thirty minutes from now. The television crew should be on their way back to the station by now for editing. Since it's Saturday tomorrow and I have Morning Live 7, I parted ways with them at the hotel under the usual notion that I'll be trying to catch some shuteye before my next shift. I can't tell Yoko where I really am though, or that I took a detour. "How about you? Still gonna film after this, hm?"

"The director's still reviewing the footage to see if we have to re-take some scenes, but we're probably going to get back to it soon."

"Huh? Yoko Okino has do a re-take? I highly doubt it."

"Well, I don't feel like I've grasped my role completely yet, so my expressions probably don't look right. But Takei-san was really awesome!"

I've met a lot of celebrities as a reporter and TV personality, had witnessed just how pitiful it is to see a lot of them so drunk on their fame, and how some where able to remain true to themselves despite the compromises. Yoko was one of those who are as humble and sincere in person as they are in front of the camera. What you see is what you get when it comes to her. Top it off with enough talent and it shouldn't be that hard to figure out why she currently enjoys her "top idol" status. And I'm one of the lucky people she considers a close friend both in and out of the industry, even though we haven't known each other for long.

"By the way, you haven't told me what kind of present you want for your birthday tomorrow," Yoko reminded. "I already mailed you about it at least twice today."

"Didn't I tell you that its alright even if you don't get me one? I mean, you already invited over a dozen A-listers to my private party tomorrow, to think I'm still a long way off on becoming anchor. And I know you're schedule's loaded," I reasoned. Tempted as I am to add that tomorrow really isn't my birthday, I held off. It is Rena Mizunashi's birthday tomorrow alright, and I've celebrated on the same date for years now. But it's not my real birthday... As if I can still call the correct date as such. Oh, how I miss those years when we'd just celebrate at a restaurant in Osaka, myself, my father and my brother, grilling _yakiniku_ on our table and enjoying it with some _kayaku-gohan_, but those memories are far beyond me now...

As I thought, Yoko wasn't pleased with my answer. "Don't you pull that kind of attitude on me now, Mizunashi-san!" she scolded waggishly. "Seriously though, its okay. Just tell me what you want and I'll try to give it to you before your gifts and fan letters start to pour in tomorrow. I mean, it is the first gift I'm going to get you and all. Oh, and I didn't invite a bunch of those people. They really want to meet you in person, especially the guys, so that doesn't count."

"...Fine, fine. You win," I sighed. There's nothing I can do to sway her from the idea when she's being this insistent... But maybe I can discourage her a bit. "Hmm... How about something homemade?"

"Homemade?" Yoko seems to ponder about it for a bit. "Okay, homemade it is!"

"I'll be expecting to get something really good then, Yoko-chan," I said encouragingly in response to her confidence.

"Mm. You can count on me!"

But I wonder... Can she really pull it off? A lot of actors don't even know what home is anymore, always working on the road, always having to relocate when a scandal breaks or when a better investment turns up, and even then they barely get to live in it. Yoko for one had recently moved in to a new apartment after her high-school sweetheart committed suicide on her old unit, but the last time she gave me a tour, some of her boxes are still taped up. "Anyway, the director's calling everyone now so... Talk to you later, okay? I want to be the first to greet you."

"Don't worry, I'll make sure to save that honor for you." I waited for Yoko to hang up first, letting the bittersweet melody of disconnection linger on my ear until it ended. Afterwards, I put my phone back into my purse before stashing it inside the glove box of my car.

Sometimes, I wish I could be more honest with Yoko. But that's impossible for me. I've never been completely honest to anyone for a very long time, not even to myself. It goes with my job as an operative for the CIA, which carried over when they initiated me to the organization. Makes me wonder if there's really any difference between the two. Even their tactics have a very strong resemblance with each other in terms of stealth, precision as well as ruthlessness and devotion to the cause. Must be the reason I was able to adapt so easily once I've earned their benefit of doubt.

I took a deep breath, flushing away any unnecessary musings about my job and Yoko, calling Hibiki's seamed face to mind instead. It's the only thing I need to focus on at the moment. Just in time, a stocky figure emerges from the delivery van that parked in front of me while I was in the middle of the call. It's what caught my eye a moment ago. "Must be nice to have a superstar on your speed dial," he said in jest.

"What can I say? Leeching off on miss popular has its perks," I smirked back while shrugging. "Don't you think so too, Vodka?"

Vodka chortles, seemingly convinced that I meant what I said even if I actually don't. "No wonder Vermouth has it in for you. She probably thinks you're trying to take her place, especially in 'that person's' eyes."

Vermouth. One of the organization's elite. I scarcely ever encounter her, but the times I did I could sense those icy eyes of hers boring holes through my chest, and each time she had this wicked smile on her lips, like she had already seen through my soul and is pleased with the secrets she learned. "The queen bee always has it in for every woman who is a threat to usurp her, and that means every woman in existence," I said, reminding myself to stay as far away from her as I can if I want to stay alive longer, and to hold my ground if it can't be helped. "I must say though, I'm not used to seeing you on your own."

"Aniki's having his downtime right now, but he sends his regards just the same."

"That's too bad. I was expecting to ride in style."

"Oh, you'll be riding in style," Vodka laughed as he pried something out of his pocket and tossed it to me. "Consider it a birthday present."

"Spare me the pleasantries, will you... Nobody wants to be reminded that they'll be a year older tomorrow." The instant my palm felt its contours, I realized it was a key. I held up the bow to the light coming from the windows and found out that its for a motorcycle. "So what's the plan?"

"The usual snatch-and-dash with a twist," Vodka began, leading me to the back of the van. "Break in to his house, contaminate his laptop where he holds 'em records, and wait for him to return. You have two options then depending on how he's gonna react. If he puts up a fight, just kill him with the knife we've provided. It's from a wanted burglar who has terrorized the ward in recent days. Suppose you've heard of him already."

"Yeah. A serial robber-slash-killer who stabs anyone who catches him red-handed at least ten times on the abdomen, but leaves without taking a single thing when he does. He's already killed three eye-witnesses, but all the police have of him as of now is a profile," I narrated tersely.

"Well, we already did those idiots a favor. Only things that remain now are his jacket and knife, which are inside."

People at the station often talk about how horrifying it is to look at the corpses this robber leaves behind, like he's digging the body for organs and guts. I've gone through the write-ups as well as distasteful pictures sent by onlookers, taken before the police could cordon off the crime scenes so I already have a good idea how to act his part out.

Thinking of having to imitate such inhumane methods though, I couldn't help but remember my father... What I had to do to survive and earn my spot within the organization... "And what of plan B?" I asked, trying to affect interest in lieu of preference.

"This is already plan B," Vodka said, pulling the van's door open, revealing my bike as well as a black bag lined beside it. I didn't have to look at the pair of protrusions on the end adjacent to us to know what's inside. "That was plan A." He pointed to the bag, as if suggesting that I check it out anyway at what is obviously his handiwork.

Composing myself so I wouldn't quiver nor vomit the morsel I had at the gala, I hopped inside, scrabbled for the zip and peeled it to find a woman, possibly in her late twenties to early thirties and wearing a common office blouse based from what I could see under so limited light, the contorted look of both surprise and pain she made during her final moments immortalized on her oval, somewhat chiseled face. "Just for the record, how did she do?" I looked curiously at Vodka while zipping up the bag. No matter how many times I've seen one, I could never get used to staring at corpses for a prolonged period, especially if I'm not innocent of the unnatural cause of death.

"Was supposed to nab him in the subway crowd earlier today, but chickened out at the last minute," he explained. "You know how we like our chickens."

"Grilled down to the bone... I guess you could call this convenience store chicken. Always leaving something to be desired," I quipped.

"But they're cheap, that's why we keep buying 'em."

I grunted. "Now, about my alternative..."

"Still Interested huh? Was thinking you're already good with the first option, considering how you exterminated that rodent Hondou way back."

Vodka's remark was charged with an excess of sick humor and esteem, as if his intention was actually to motivate me. He had no idea how much I regret committing that particular crime, and how I will continue to bear it for the rest of my life and beyond. I could feel my instincts seethe, wanting to kill him here and now for insulting me like that. Without Gin watching his back, he doesn't seem to be that much of a threat.

But all I could do was look delirious, as if gratified by his compliment as I await my other option. I've lost far too much to get to this point, and my father would be disappointed if I put it all in vain for something so petty.

"Now, if you somehow manage to get Hibiki to listen, just snap his will like a twig," he continued. "Tell him how miserable he's gonna be for the rest of his life once he crosses us, and how it will be much worse for his kid whether she wakes up or not, unless he does this final job for us and takes care of himself. Shouldn't be too hard for you since he already tried hanging himself the day he learned his daughter's not gonna wake up. Noone would suspect a thing if he gave it another shot and got it this time around. His fridge should still have enough booze to keep you two company while you have your heart to heart. If you can't find the rope he used before, just spike his drink. Doesn't matter either way as long as you get everything else done."

Of course. Coerce Hibiki to drink, then to commit suicide out of despair. He never went to actual rehab when the FBI sought his cooperation, so his mentality must still be volatile. This should be relatively easier for me taking into account my psychological training, not to mention a lot less messier. I was almost completely resigned to this approach...

….However, there's a catch. There's always a catch when it comes to choices like this.

"But you have to do the daughter in too."

I immediately understood their logic behind this second death. It's important to make the scenario more believable to the public and the authorities, and to send a stronger message to our enemy. Given the situation, the company would consider the same thing. My father taught me to be brave when faced with such difficulty, and to always do what I have to not only for the sake of the mission, but more importantly, to survive...

"...Got it. Now if you don't mind, I have to change," I said, holding my enthusiastic smile for as long as I could while I pulled the van door close. I caught a glimpse of Vodka grinning as I did. Whether he was tantalized by the idea of me stripping or poking fun at the idea of me stripping before a dead body, a woman's no less, I wouldn't know. I really don't care either.

Once certain of my safety inside this dark, cramped compartment, I cradled my body as it shivered upon the horror I'm about to unleash tonight by picking either one of the choices. Upon the way I acted just now, taking pleasure over how I massacred my own father, mocking the one friendship I truly cherish in this lie, making fun of the death of another misguided soul. Compared to these, sitting beside an occupied bodybag meant nil to me. Compared to my father, my strength is nothing but a facade. He might not be able to make an immediate decision like me, but he certainly won't fret so badly in its midst.

When I get over this moment of uncertainty though, I know Kir will be more than ready to impress the organization once again. If only deciding, as well as dealing with my conscience afterward is just as simple...

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><p>Chapter End.<p> 


End file.
